It was a warm, soft evening beneath the apple trees. I could smell the apples ripening on their boughs. Overhead some shooting stars chased across the sky and made me smile.
I had your note crumpled in my pocket, with the love heart speared through with an arrow. It had the small map, with the arrow marking this exact tree I lay under. Not that I needed it, this had been our makeout tree for years.
I remembered the night I had rolled the dice with you, and swung my arms around your neck and laid one on you. Your lips had been tense beneath mine until you realised what it meant. And then we had been rolling in the fresh grass all evening and getting to know each other.
As I lay among the sweet smelling grass, I fingered the beads around my neck, clicking them together, like the sounds of an abacus, counting up the happy memories together. Remembering the slow burn of desire before we made love, the excrutiating flicker of lust as we took our time exploring each other.
I heard your footsteps crunching in the grass before I saw you, a dark outline against the night. A gleaming smile in the dark. You pulling me to my feet, holding my body against yours. We stand in silence, easy with each other, but the curiousity in me builds.
Stepping back a little, stroking my hair, you tell me how much you love me, and I feel something cool in my hand. My heart swells like a parachute in my chest and I could be flying with excitement as I look at the ring in my palm.
“Marry me,” you say, your voice hoarse.
As my lips meet yours, I hope that’s all you needed for an answer.